


Impressions

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Series: Time Agency [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sensation Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half the time they can't keep their hands off each other; the other half, they argue and bitch and occasionally beat seven kinds of hell out of each other in public.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Sensation Play' in [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Because that fight in the bar _really_ needed some backstory.
> 
> Not my characters, not making any money from this

  
In their second term as Time Agency cadets, they were still screwing. No one understands how they have so much fun together. Half the time they can't keep their hands off each other; the other half, they argue and bitch and occasionally beat seven kinds of hell out of each other in public.

For both of them, there's an element of edgeplay in this, finding a safe - well, safeish - outlet. They've lost people, been through a war, and they're only just finishing up their teens. Of course they're aggressive and angry, and they want to punch an impression into the surface of an uncaring world.

But they also - and they've talked about this, while soothing bruises and wrenched muscles with shared swigs of spirits - enjoy the pain. There is a thrill in uncontrolled, unexpected blows that they've never found with carefully planned, sensible scenes.

That night - outside the usual dive the cadets ended up in - Boeshane throws the first punch, drew the first blood. He gave a yell, somewhere between between a whoop and a snarl. Jon came back up swinging for him, the pain spurring him to anger, and missed, Boeshane wrenching his arm in close and behind his back. Jon stamped down on Boeshane's foot, making him yell and let go his grip.

'Fucking _hurt_ , you prick,' snarled Jon, wheeling round. Boeshane had reeled upright, and was rocked back on his heels, inviting the next shot. There are two approaches to this, and Jon isn't angry or stupid enough yet to kick him in the balls. Instead, he dives low, head leading, and rams the other boy in the gut.

Jon grips tight round his waist, trying to throw him off-balance, and Boshane grabs him by the hair, brutally wrenching his head up, trying to throw him off balance. Jon roars, struggles free - making use of everything he knows about pressure points on the inner elbows. It takes four sharp jabs with rigid fingers to make Boeshane loose his grip, but he does, and then Jon can make a swift punch almost vertically to his lover's chin, and rock him harshly backwards.

And it feels so _good_ , the delicious, single-minded scrunch of fist into muscle, the tensions that threaten to snap, the harshness of nails and teeth - all building into one glowing burst of heat and adrenaline, flowing through their bodies -

The rocked painfully into each other's arms, each gasping from their own blossoming bruises and sore, wrenched muscles. The first kiss, when it came, was violent, hungry and passionate.

Jon was the first to thrust a hand harshly downwards, make an firm grab at his lover's hard-on.

'Ooh!' A yell of outrage, and Boeshane responded, groping him back with equal vehemance.

Jon ran their bodies against a wall, viciously, without loosing his grip. The impact knocked all the breath out of Boeshane, and he threw his arms hard round Jon, trying to squash him. They kissed again, bruisingly hard, Jon biting at his lover's mouth.

'Vicious bastard,' snarled Boeshane, unable to wrench away, his split lower lip gripped between his lover's teeth. 'Fucking - _hate_ you.'

His hand is working over Jon's cock, fumbling hastily for buttons.

Jon is shuddering, his limbs so sore and achy it's hard to stay upright, especially with that sure hand rubbing and gripping him, stretching him tense and taut against his lover's body.

'Gonna come for me, bitch?' Boeshane growled, against his lover's ear, before delivering a sharp little nip on his earlobe. Jon wrenched unexpectedly away, dragged himself free of his lover's strong encircling arm.

'Gonna make me, big boy?' he snarled.

Boeshane threw himself back at Jon, catching hold of him with a hard grip, making him yell as he crushed an already-bruised arm. Boeshane swung him round, shoved him against the wall, and pinned him, one hand clasping him at the throat, not quite squeezing but making it clear he could.

'Yeah,' he snapped at Jon, and dropped to his knees, hands fumbling at his lover's fly. 'I _am,_ yeah.'

Jon lapsed against the wall, too wrenched and sore to do anything but surrender as the power dynamic shifted. Boeshane, kneeling and defenceless, was still trying to dominate him.

 _Oh god those are his teeth he fucking wouldn't **dare** would he_?

Jon is dripping with sweat, hot and throbbing where he's been punched, bleeding slightly, and he can feel sore spots all over where there will be bruises and torn muscles tomorrow. Boeshane's fast, scarily careless kissing and nipping at the tender skin of his cock is just a continuation of the fight.

'Yeah?' Jon snapped, and gave a sudden push, thrust himself into his lover's mouth, deeper than was comfortable, making Boeshane jerk back, gasping.

Boeshane glared up at him and adjusted to the move, using his teeth creatively, never breaking the skin but clearly threatening to if Jon made a sudden move again. Then he suddenly jabbed two fingers into the tender flesh at the back of Jon's knee, making him half-lose his balance as his weight was thrown off that leg.

Jon's entire body is glowing with the sore satisfied heat of fighting, and now he's being drawn taut, his balance close to breaking and his strained muscles unbearably tense as he tries, panting, to stay still. Boeshane has the advantage now, and he's using it, sucking harshly and fast, almost forcing Jon's arousal - and it's working, Jon shuddered once and came, breathless and bleeding, the orgasm wrenching through him as if against his will.

'Bastard,' he moaned, as soon as he could speak.

Boeshane pulled away, stood up, leaving Jon to adjust his clothing.

Jon finds he's close to laughing, the release bubbling in him, making him feel light and silly.

'Babe - ' he reached for Boeshane, dragged him into a one-armed hug. 'Gimme a minute and I'll do you?'

Boeshane is breathless, one hand checking his lips for stray drops. He's simmering down, Jon's orgasm having sychronously taken the edge off his excitement.

'I'm good,' he panted.' I can wait.'

'Nothing broken, love?' Jon asked, looking him up and down.

'Nah. You're not as tough as you think, Shortarse.'

'Hey!' Jon gave a swipe, feebly playful. Boeshane dodged, and laughed.

'C'mon, let's go home,' he said, reaching to take Jon's hand.

END  



End file.
